Ties That Bind
by semiiramiis
Summary: One very unlikely damsel in distress and a group of very unlikely rescuers equal one very unlikely rescue.
1. Chapter 1

The man stood, staring out at the horizon in front of him. In one hand, he held a sheet of paper. In the other, a thick silver chain, ornamented with a cluster of small silver rings, dangled from his fingertips. He had remained in that exact same position for over an hour, his only movement was to occasionally run the rings through his grasp like worry stones on a string.

"Milord?" The man on the terrace with him finally, finally summoned the nerve up to interfere with the heavy silence.

"You believe we should hold onto our humanity." The voice was deep, dark, echoing. "Our ties. Our bonds. Our...loved ones."

"They are what hold us back from the precipice of our own monstrosity, Highlord." The other man's answer was wary, but firm. He would not deny it even if it brought him trouble.

"And we forgive those who have lost their way."

Heavier doubt, but Thassarian finally gave his answer. "Many of them, as we sought forgiveness, so should we forgive. May I ask why you've asked me here?

Why, indeed. Darion Mograine, Highlord of the Ebon Blade, studied the chain in his hand, his expression somber. "You are the only one I can trust with this, Thassarian. I must...ask for a favor. And it will not be an easy one."

That brought the other man to his side in a moment, the wariness gone. Thassarian was willing, but could Darion ask it of him? It was insanity. It reeked of failure, a disaster. But he couldn't just turn his back on this. He still had enough of that humanity that Thassarian extolled so persistently to know it had to be done. "Nothing truly important is."

"I want you to kidnap someone."

"Kidnap, milord?" Now, there was doubt in Thassarian's voice, and Darion chuckled. "I think you have the wrong man." Thassarian finally stated, and Darion glanced over his shoulder. No, he was certain he had the right man. He held up the sheet of paper, the dull light washing it red.

"This is a death order, Thassarian. On one of the few living people I still give a damn about. I can't..." Let this one go. He'd invested so much in a superb spy network, expecting it to help his allies, and to underscore the value of his people to an often dubious audience. He hadn't been expecting _this_.

"You want me to kidnap the person who has put up the order?"

Thassarian was almost bridling with doubt and resentment, his pale brows lowered. "Koltira would be better equipped for that endeavor. I will not help you torture someone, even if..." He waved impotently at the paper. "Kill them outright for you, yes, but..."

"I don't want you to kidnap the person who has issued this." Darion slapped the folded paper into his other palm. "I want you to kidnap the target."

"Save...?" Less disdain, that was much more palatable to the other death knight, and Darion nodded slowly.

"Yes, Thassarian, I want you to save the target. It will be dangerous, because she won't want to be saved, especially by the likes of us. And I need it done in a very particular way. Not a simple snatch and grab, although that by itself wouldn't be simple. She will put up a fight."

"A worthy fight?"

Darion snorted, suspiciously close to laughter, and Thassarian tilted his head to stare back. "A worthy fight, yes. No doubts. But first, I need a replacement for her. Someone to be her doppelganger until this is acted upon. That is obviously a death sentence." That was the part that Darion wasn't certain that Thassarian would go along with. For the plan to work correctly, it must seem to all that she had died. It was the only way she'd know the truth, and it was the only way she'd have the time and freedom to see what played out around her. For that, there must a sacrifice. But without that sacrifice, he would lose his final link to his living past. And, he loved her. Not in the expected way, of a man with a woman, but love nonetheless. "When I was a child, I gave her a gift." He'd been trying so desperately to be more than his years. It had been chosen so carefully, and now he understood his father's indulgence in its purchase. It had been no cheap trinket bought by a boy, the item that had caught Darion's eyes that day was not a small token. Today, he understood its worth, its value. "A necklace, with several silver rings suspended on it. Each ring was different. Different carvings, different stones. It was beautiful."

Thassarian's gaze dropped to Darion's hand, the chain patently visible hanging in the air, painted by the dying sun. "This is only a small part of it." Darion stated, "When I became very ill, she and some others each took one of the rings, had it blessed, said their prayers on it, and put them on this chain. The prayers of paladins for a child that they loved and cared for. And they put it around my neck. It's been with me ever since."

"A true gift to still possess." Thassarian noted. "So you want me to kidnap a paladin, replace her with a doppelganger, and wait for the inevitable to happen?"

"That's _exactly _what I want."


	2. Chapter 2

As a motherless child, Darion had occasionally been, as his father had so delicately put it, shared with others. Usually it had been for a few hours, a day or so, but his care had often fallen to the teenaged girls around him. He'd grown to know them all well, and had understood those he tolerated well, and those he did not. He'd been dreading his father's choice of babysitters that summer, because a month was a long time to put up with those he did not. He understood as an adult, now, the veil of age lifted, that his father had not actually intended to leave him in the care of any of the teenaged girls for a month, especially not the dreaded Sally. But, in a private moment, Darion had shyly raised his doubts about who would be given the responsibility to care for him while his father and brother traveled. He now understood that his father's next question had been measuring, a test of both Darion's relationships with those around him, and his ability to choose someone trustworthy...to see a value in people. Who would Darion choose to watch him while Alexandros was away for so long? There had been no restrictions, Darion could have answered any name at all, but his mind was still stuck on the usual array of babysitters. He'd answered honestly, and there had been something in his father's eyes at the answer. Surprise? A well disguised hope? Measurement?

Now, Darion understood that what he'd requested was out of line. Certainly, out in a village, she'd be considered more than old enough to babysit Darion, and a dozen more just like him, for a whole month. In fact, she was old enough to have been married herself, with a babe in belly, if not one already in her arms. But Darion had not been raised in a simple village, and the target of his request was no neighboring farm girl.

But she'd arrived that morning, and was either the world's greatest actress...a dubious thought even now...or none too put off by the task of watching him. She'd done an amazing job of it as well, devoting her full attention to it. Never once had she shirked it, never once had she left him to go be with her friends. She'd taught him to fish, and gathered berries with him. She had, in a mix of dread seriousness and play, sparred with him, wooden sword against wooden sword.

He sighed, sitting down at the desk in his chambers, absorbing the silence of Acherus. It was a foolish idea to try to grasp those feelings back. They were dead. Gone. He was dead, truly. And she...

_"Will you take care of me?" _His voice had been wistful. She'd said nothing for a long moment, watching Alexandros' back, Renault's, well after both had turned away from her, well after Alexandros had stopped waving. Her hand on his shoulder had been both caring and edged in steel.

_"Absolutely, Darion. I will care for you. I will fight for you. We're as good as family, you know." _

As good as family. He nodded, mind finally made up. Doing this had all of the earmarks of a disaster, but he couldn't just sit idly by. He had the resources at his disposal to do this, and he was willing to face the consequences... all of them. And unfortunately, he knew that she was going to be the most dire of those consequences.

He dropped the chain on the dull black surface, smiling at the metallic clink as the rings hit. Taelan's...dead. His father's...dead. High General Abbendis's...dead. That left only two. Tirion's... not dead. And hers. Six silver rings. Once there had been a seventh, but that one had been destroyed by Darion himself.

"Like it or not, I'm coming for you." He told the silent, empty room, his breath a chill fog. "Because...we're as good as family."


	3. Chapter 3

Thassarian growled to himself as he strode down the halls. The idea stank, but his orders were very specific, starting with the fact that Koltira must remain oblivious to everything. That was not going to be easy, the elf was intuitive and very quick to realize when things were going on behind his back. He could smell 'interesting occurrences' on the very breezes within Acherus.

This was not going to be easy, but if it could be done, Thassarian would get it done. Even if it was a lost cause, he had to help. After all, they'd all been lost causes...every single death knight based out of Acherus had spent time being a monster. What was one more? It was so rare that Mograine asked for anything...for himself, that Thassarian knew if word got out he'd be fighting off volunteers. No, he'd been chosen for a reason. Mograine's points were valid. Thassarian had the disposition for this. And, amongst his contacts, he had entities ready, willing, and able to get this done. She'd never knew what hit her, just as requested. She couldn't be allowed to set up for a fight, for her own good...and for theirs. While Thassarian had never had the dubious honor of running up against her personally, her reputation preceded her. He was just happy that Mograine had made it very clear his only job was to secure her intact enough for her to survive it. After that, she became the Highlord's problem. He didn't have the history, the relationship, or the love to bring her out of this. If Mograine cared, then he was the only one who had a chance in hell. And if he couldn't...

Thassarian pursed his lips in thought. Mograine had been clear, if she died, she died at his hands. And her head would be no man's trophy.

_"Do you think I'm spoiled?" _He was holding the basket up high, trying to ignore its growing weight. He wanted to help. He was tired of being small. Renault had been quick to leave him behind, and he had sifted down back into her company, if not care, just as easily as usual. Her response had been to put him to work alongside her, a responsibility he was thankful of.

She pursed her lips, jutting her jaw and lowering her brows. It was not an uncommon look for her, she was temperamental and confrontational, hardly a sweet and kindly sort of young woman. _"No." _She replied, and he frowned, unconvinced.

"_Renault does." _He prodded, although prodding her when she got that particular look was not usually wise.

_"I am not Renault." _She stated the obviously, jerking a thumb beyond him, back towards the wheelbarrow for an empty basket. He sighed, battering his thighs as he struggled with the full basket of apples, trying to avoid setting it down, dropping it, or slipping on the wet grass. He settled it in the barrow and brought her an empty basket so that she could start filling it.

_"Sally says so as well." _He pushed again, and her expression grew downright stormy.

_"And I am not Sally." _She noted coldly, and he debated going further. He was old enough to know that she did not have the most tranquil of relationships with either his brother, or Sally Whitemane. _"If I said that I do not think you are spoiled, Darion, then that is exactly what I meant. Do you accuse me of lying?" _

No. But she might try to soften a blow against him. Although she could be pugilistic and easy to anger, she was a good person. A kind one. He could see that under the squared jaw, the dark glares, and an amazing willingness to throw into a fight...any fight. _"No, ma'am." _He breathed, and she stared at him, blowing at a loose strand of hair hanging in her face.

_"Darion." _She finally murmured, moving close and resting her hands on his shoulders, leaning over to stare into his eyes. _"You are not spoiled. How you have managed to avoid that, I cannot say. But you are not. You have been more than ample opportunity to be so, for your father coddles you shamelessly, but..." _Her lips were amazingly warm when she pressed them to his forehead in a truly rare display of affection. _"You are not. The problem is not you." _She began to toss apples into the basket, paying little attention, but rarely missing. "_But is things beyond your control. I do not hold those against you." _ She was angry, he realized, a low grade simmer. And he had made her so. No. He suddenly saw through it. She was mad for him, not at him.

_"Darion?"_

_ "Yes?" _

_ "If you get me crabapples, I will make you a batch of spiced ones. You like them, if I remember rightly." _She glanced at him, her eyes dark in the paleness of her face. _"But...only if you tell no one. I'll not have them all thinking I'm some sort of cook or something." _

Darion grinned, her spiced crabapples were amazing, and he adored them. Much as he adored her. _"I promise." _


End file.
